Not Nothing
by Jazoriah
Summary: Kurt finally snaps, and is saved from a whole world of pain by McKinley's obnoxiously attractive badboy.


Kurt could practically _feel_ the bruises blossoming across his back as he hit the cold metal of the locker.

"'Sup fag?" chuckled the behemoth as he and his teammates passed by.

Kurt clenched his fists. For the first time in his high school career, he felt all the frustration and shame and anger flare into pure, _pounding_ adrenaline.

"What the _fuck_ is wrong with you?" he screeched, following the pack of football players.

As one, the meaty men turned to look at him in surprise and amusement.

"Why can't you just leave me alone? Am I that fucking terrifying that you have to _pound_ the threat out of me?"

The hulk at the head of the group stepped forward warningly.

"You wanna be careful what you say, fairy."

"You worried you're gonna catch gay then? You think that I might make you stop chasing skirt? You know, because you're so damn successful with the ladies right now."

"Not another word, homo," hissed the boy, closing in on Kurt.

"Hey, maybe that's why you can't get a girl! All us _fags_ have infected you!"

A fist caught Kurt on the side of the chin. Spots danced in his vision for a moment, before a guttural sound ripped from his throat and he charged forward, throwing his fist at the wall of teenagers. Tears clawed at his eyes as desperation and anger were quickly overwhelmed by physical pain. The blows seemed to come from all sides and Kurt's thrashing attacks ceased as he curled in on himself.

_When does it stop… It has to stop… Please stop…_

Kurt squeezed his eyes shut.

"Hey!" a furious voice cut through the ringing in Kurt's head and suddenly the rain of fists halted.

"What the hell are you doing, picking on a kid like _that_?" continued the newcomer. Kurt blinked at the boy, recognising the torn jacket and curly hair.

_Seriously?_

"Fuck off, Anderson," said one of the attackers. "He came at us."

"He's a toothpick!" shouted Blaine. "He can't do shit to you and you know it! So leave him alone or I'll beat the hell out of you _for_ him."

"Yeah?" growled one of the boys. He took a step towards the shorter boy and swung his fist forward. Blaine sidestepped and buried his fist in the boy's stomach, causing him to double over with a grunt. His friends took his place, catching Blaine on the shoulder and forcing him into the lockers with a slam.

"You gotta learn to pick your battles better, kid," hissed a pockmarked blonde. He drew his fist back and launched it into Blaine's cheek, propelling it into the unforgiving metal with a loud _thunk_. Blaine gasped in shock and pain.

The offending blonde smirked, shaking his head.

"You think a little criminal like you's got any power at this school? You've got _nothing_."

The blonde loosed one more punch into Blaine's gut, smiling at the pain-filled grunt that burst from the boy, before shaking his head and leading the vicious group away. Blaine coughed, trying desperately to stop himself crumpling. Once he could control his breathing, he turned his eyes to Kurt, who looked very small pressed up against the locker.

"You got a death wish or something?" he murmured.

Kurt hugged himself a little tighter. The throbbing in his arms and torso beat a steady rhythm through his body. He slid down the lockers to huddle on the floor.

"I just wanted…" he began, but trailed off as hopelessness enveloped him.

"Hey," snapped Blaine, his voice on edge. "You right? You haven't got a concussion or anything, do you?"

"No," sighed Kurt. "I'm not dizzy or tired or whatever."

Blaine observed him for a moment, and then rolled his eyes, settling himself on the floor beside his companion.

"Maybe not, but there has to be something seriously fucked up in your head to throw the first punch at guys like that."

Kurt said nothing, staring at his feet.

"Dude?" said Blaine, his voice softening. "You okay?"

"I'm not nothing." Kurt's voice was barely above a whisper.

"What?"

"Everything that happens here… the whole school knows…. but they just look away… like I'm nothing… at least, nothing worth causing a fuss over."

Kurt closed his eyes.

"It's like it doesn't matter what they do to me… because it's _me_. And who could ever give a shit about something like _that_?"

Blaine flinched a little at the dead tone of voice. He hurriedly shook his head to clear the unease.

"You're seriously going to give that speech after I went to bat for you? Real fucking grateful, Hummel."

Kurt blinked, seeming to come out of a haze.

"Oh! Right. God, they…. and you…"

"Don't break yourself," chuckled Blaine. "I didn't say it to guilt trip you. Just figured I'd remind you that not everyone in this place turned their back on you."

Kurt stared at him for a moment, and let out a short bark of laughter.

"You're right," he agreed, letting his head drop back against the locker. "Though I've got to say, I never thought it'd be you coming to the rescue."

Blaine screwed up his face. "You didn't think I could take them?"

"Didn't think you liked me enough to try." Blaine cocked an eyebrow at him. "Oh _come on_. You've been a total cock to me ever since you got here."

Blaine snorted. "Yeah, and you've been a polite little prince."

"Well, I don't take too well to arseholes."

"I can see that."

Kurt smiled. He carefully rubbed his sore arms in thought.

"Really though, why help me?"

Blaine looked at him. "It's seriously fucking sad you have to ask that."

"What does that mean?" asked Kurt in confusion.

Blaine sighed. "It means," he muttered, staring at a spot on the wall without seeing it, "you're not nothing."

Kurt furrowed his brow, and Blaine continued.

"You said it before, but I don't think you believe it. Or you wouldn't ask stupid fucking questions."

He stood up, stretching gingerly.

"Don't challenge those guys again. I've been boxing since I was nine and even I couldn't take them in a fight."

Kurt stood, ignoring the twinge in his bruises as he contemplated his companion.

"But you still do. Regularly," he stated.

Blaine glanced at him, then turned and strode off down the corridor.

"That's different," he called over his shoulder. "When they hurt you, it _matters_."

Kurt stared after him for a long time. A single phrase the blonde footballer had uttered kept reverberating through his head, and he wondered how true it was.

"You've got _nothing_."

* * *

**A/N:** When I started this I was fully intending to make it a tiny drabble. The story objected.

This is my first attempt at a glee fic, though I have ideas for a longish AU later on. This one's most likely going to stay a one shot. Is it just me or is there something really enticing about a badboy Blaine/Kurt dynamic?

Tell me what you think! I do love me some reviews.


End file.
